Sulk
by elfx9
Summary: One-shot set in the future. Ste and Brendan have been in a relationship for 3 months, and today Steven is in a sulk. A bit of random domesticated Stendan because it feels appropriate.


As he starts to stir awake he can feel the weight of a lone leg draped haphazardly across him. He can feel the heaviness of a head on his arm, and gentle breathing against his neck, warming the skin there. He cracks his eyes open to look down at the person he shares his bed with. The long eyelashes resting peacefully downwards, the plump lips slightly open, the fingers folding warmly around Brendan's waist.

Such is the way Brendan has woken up for the last 7 days in a row now, with Steven's naked body plastered against his own… not that he's been counting the days. No, he saves that job for Joel, who mumbled sullenly outside the occupied bathroom yesterday morning, "Six days in a row now, he's been here." Brendan had hardly noticed.

And if he'd been keeping proper tabs – which he most certainly hadn't – then he would know that he and Steven had been going like this for a good three months now. A blissful three months, you might say if – if you weren't afraid to jinx it. They'd taken it slowly at first, upon Steven's instruction. At the time, Brendan had thought that 'slow' was ludicrous, given all the time they had to make up for, but in hindsight it had possibly worked better that way. Now they were here, with Steven staying most nights of the week and Brendan barely even taking time to contemplate how scarily serious that sounded.

He stretches slightly – as much as he can without stirring his bedmate – and folds his arm instinctively around Steven's shoulders. Brendan likes to wake up slowly; get a few minutes of peace in the silence of the bedroom before Steven wakes and starts gobbing off. He likes to have these quiet moments of solitude before he steps out of bed into the mass of mess that Steven has bought with him, and Brendan complains about every day. Steven doesn't have much stuff, but the stuff he does have has made this bedroom a bombsite. Brendan's days of pristine and controlled layout seem long gone.

He turns to study the alarm clock and squints until the figures become clear… 11:42am. No wonder he's so hungry. And now he feels more inclined to nudge Steven awake – or specifically, nudge him towards the kitchen. Along with the hoards of crap Steven's moved into the house, Brendan cannot fault the mass of food that now lines up in the cupboards. It's easy to share your house with someone for 7 days when they come armed with early-morning pancakes and bacon sarnies and cooked breakfasts and…

SHIT.

Brendan freezes… his heart skipping a beat slightly as Steven's voice from last night starts to creep into his head.

"You 'ave set the alarm, ain't ya?" he had mumbled when halfway between sleep and living, allowing the post-coital sensation to move him into slumber.

"Course I 'ave." Brendan had mumbled back, letting the heaviness of his eyelids weigh him down.

"Ten o'clock?"

"Ten o'clock."

Fuck. What a fucking… idiot. Steven is going to kill him. Now, while the reason for the early-wakeup-call doesn't mean much to Brendan, it seems to mean a hell of a lot to Steven… and that just means this fallout is going to be particularly big when Steven wakes and realises Brendan's mistake.

They were supposed to go and get some bloody pictures taken. The very idea of it makes Brendan's insides curl with embarrassment even now, and yet Steven had insisted when he'd read the '50% off' deal for a professional photo-shoot in Manchester.

"We don't 'ave any pictures of us!" He'd complained, bottom lick stuck out.

And of course, Steven wasn't about to turn down a deal like that. Upon getting together, Steven had insisted – and continues to insist – that he pay for things as much as Brendan does, despite him having a fraction of the income. Brendan doesn't get why, since he _wants _to buy things for Steven, but that's the way it is and Brendan has to like it or lump it.

So Steven has already forked out for this ridiculous photo-session, which they have now – thanks to Brendan – missed. And thanks to Brendan's endless complaining about the whole idea, there's no way Steven is going to believe that this is an honest mistake. Fuck. Brendan doesn't know whether he has the energy for the fireworks. But they're coming soon, because right now Steven's eyes are cracking open, and he's got some silly little smile on his face as he looks up at Brendan and stretches.

"Mornin'."

"Hm, mornin'." Brendan mutters cautiously.

"Wha' time is it?"

Wow, faster than Brendan thought. Well, may as well skip to the chase. Brendan begins to unfasten his and Steven's bodies from each other as he answers, "Now don't throw a hissy fit but…"

X0OXOXOX

Four hours later and Brendan is still in the doghouse. For an hour or so, Steven's sulks are usually quite endearing – _cute, _you might even go as far to say – and Brendan even enjoys winding him up to get that bottom lip stuck right out as far as it can go. But after two hours it's just annoying, three hours it's downright irritating, and _four… _Brendan's had enough of this bullshit. It was one stupid mistake. One stupid photograph. Is it really worth this?!

"Steven!" He snaps, when he finds Steven still slumped on the sofa in front of Jeremy Kyle. "You gonna stay here all day sulkin', or are you gonna go home and do it there?!"

Steven tuts, not even giving Brendan the satisfaction of turning round as he shoots back, "I'm 'ere for Cheryl, not you."

"Sure ye are, yeah."

"Oh believe me, I'm leavin' as soon as she goes to work."

"Yeah? You wanna take all yer shit with you, for once?"

"D'you wanna _shut up?!"_

Witty. Steven never really was one for clever comebacks. Brendan would find it funny if he wasn't finding this whole ordeal incredibly aggravating. He's not accustomed to this… this sharing a house with an angry boyfriend… the kind of marital stuff you see on TV, where the husband needs to man-up cos his wife has him whipped. Right now, Brendan is that sucker, and he fucking hates it. In his own home, as well.

"Whatever, I'm goin' to the club." He sighs, "Call me whenever you get over it."

Steven doesn't even bother straining his brain for a response to that. He just huffs in his adolescently moody way, and keeps his eyes fixed on the tattooed skinhead who blesses the television screen.

As Brendan leaves, he finds himself for the first time dissatisfied with having the last word.

XOXOXOXOX

What was Steven even expecting from this bloody photo-shoot anyway? Brendan imagines them both sat around in the white walls, while some camp photographer barks at them to 'smile', 'laugh', 'cuddle'… … … the thought's enough to knock him sick. Surely Steven knows that no photograph from that session would be presentable to the human eye? Most likely they'd have ended up with Steven grinning nervously, trying to keep the peace while Brendan looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Stupid idea. Stupid idea, stupid deal, stupid… Steven. And now Brendan's at work, he finds himself refraining from his phone, stopping himself from texting him a simple 'sorry' because for pride's sake, such a gesture is impossible. Christ, is this the rest of his life? Is this what Steven has turned him into? Well he hopes the sulky mare is worth the bloody effort.

In the next hour, he finds himself on some godforsaken photo-session site - a stupidly expensive one in Liverpool - typing in his details to book them another session. He tries to remove himself from his body… pretend to himself that it's not Brendan Brady organising this thing… cos the thought of that is too mortifying to stomach. Still, at least this way he'll get a shag tomorrow. Three months of sex-on-tap is incredibly addictive, after all. Easy to get used to. Hard to adjust without.

There's a small knock at the door and Cheryl enters. She looks at him with almost pity in her eyes.

"Wha'?" Brendan snaps defensively. He closes his laptop, sharpish. No way is anyone catching him in the act, not even Cheryl.

"I've been talking to Ste."

"So?"

"You couldn't just do this _one _little thing for him, Brendan?"

"I fucking forgot!" Brendan growled for what felt like the millionth time that day, "I didn't do it on purpose!"

"He was really excited about it."

"I know, Chez!"

"And now he's upset with you."

"Yeah, thanks, I'd noticed."

"Are you two gonna be able to get through even _one _week without having an argument?" Cheryl cries.

She thinks it's hard on her, having to listen through the walls when he and Steven yell at each other. She thinks it's hard having to listen to her precious front door being slammed when Steven storms back home, and Brendan swearing like there's no tomorrow when he's gone. She probably thinks its hard having to endure the equally-loud make-up-sex as well, but Brendan doesn't want to stew on that idea.

It was Cheryl who was the most pleased when they finally got together, so he doesn't get why she's complaining now.

"I'm sorting it, Chez." He mumbles, non-committal.

"Well make sure you do." She sighs, "Because you've got a good thing going there, Bren. He just wants it in a photo, there's nothing wrong with that."

"Mm."

"_Is there?!" _She says, more forcefully, in that way women do so that there's no other answer you can give other than the one they're looking for.

"No." He grunts. Jesus, why don't Steven and Chez just cut off his damn balls and be done with it?!

"Okay, good." She stands up, satisfied. "I wouldn't be surprised if he calls you soon anyway. I practically had to prise the phone out of his hand when I was there."

"Hey, whose side are you on, here?"

Cheryl just smiles, and closes the door behind her. And once again, Brendan finds himself dissatisfied with having the last word.

XOXOXOX

He doesn't bother calling. He goes back to the flat instead, in case there's even a chance Steven hasn't left yet.

Sure enough, Steven is still curled up on the sofa, half-asleep this time, watching some old-age wheelchair-bound geezer on Jeremy Kyle endure a slagging-match with his mid-20s wife. Utter crap, Brendan thinks, but doesn't bother saying so right now. Instead he slumps the entirety of his body-weight on the other side of the sofa, jerking Steven awake.

Steven doesn't say anything. He sits up sleepily, glances at Brendan, and then back at the television.

Well, saying nothing is better than a spiel of sarcasm, moaning or yelling, Brendan reasons. It just means that _he's_ going to have to be the one to speak first, which is bullshit, because he never knows what to say in these situations. He'll usually deal with it with a suggestive kiss on Steven's neck… but the tone doesn't really call for it right now. He's learning, slowly, how to pick up on things like tone.

So they sit in silence for a while, whilst the woman on the TV calls her OAP husband a "selfish-wanker" and a "uptight tight-wad" and "one-track-minded pervert.".

"Hey," Brendan mutters absent-mindedly, "_You_ better not treat me this shit when _I'm_ old."

He almost misses it, when Steven blinks and turns to him with eyes wide. For a minute, Brendan's sure said something else to fuck-up, and inwardly curses himself… but then he notices something else in Steven's expression. Surprise… a hint of reluctant happiness.

"What?"

Steven smiles… just slightly. "When you're old?"

"Yeah…?"

And then his smile grows, expanding into a grin. "I'll probably treat ye just the same when you're old. When _we're _old."

And then Brendan gets it. With that throwaway statement, Steven sees it as Brendan somehow declaring a life-long future together. God, he's soft. And easily pleased, as well. And if he hasn't worked out by now that Brendan's in this for the long-haul, then he's also stupid. No, Brendan's never sat down to imagine his and Steven's life in 50 years time, but he's fucked if he doesn't believe Steven will be there.

He grins back. "Lets hope my back never gives in then, or we _will _have a problem."

"Yeah, and lets hope your memory don't get any worse, or we won't get anythin' done."

"Uh," Brendan sighs, "Can we please jus' drop it now, yeah? I'm _sorry._"

There, he said it. The stubborn little fucker actually made him say it. And his balls have officially been chopped off.

But he doesn't have too much time to be bitter about it, because Steven's face – now plastered with a wide wolfish grin – is coming closer, and he wraps his arms around Brendan's neck and kisses him with purpose on the lips. Hard, quick, determined. Certain.

"I love you." He breathes. And his voice sounds so sincere and genuine that it takes Brendan aback slightly. It's not the first time Steven's said it since they got back together… maybe the fourth or fifth. But each time he does, it knocks Brendan out with how damn lucky he is. How little he deserves it, but how grateful he is to have it.

Without another word, he pushes Steven back onto the sofa and kisses him, and with his body tells Steven the same thing right back.


End file.
